Brotherhood
by Auua Ytjoml
Summary: "Where would you like me to start?" "Anywhere you want," So Arthur began talking about the subject that came most naturally to him: his brother. Reincarnation. A/U from 4x6. No Slash.


**Brotherhood **

_"Where would you like me to start?"_

_"Anywhere you want." _

_So Arthur began talking about the subject that came most naturally to him: his brother. _

A/N: Wow. This began as a powerful response to the words above as written in Livin4Jesus' story "_Balinor's Sons"._ Before I knew it, these words had spawned a monster plot bunny in my mind that I couldn't see the end of. I started writing, not knowing myself what the next paragraph would say and then I was wrapping up a 3400 word fic that included scenes I'd been wanting write for months yet had somehow been unable to get a grasp on. Thank you Liv for the inspiration and thanks to everyone else who gives this a read. Enjoy!

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When Arthur wakes it is a slow agonizing process. The agony has nothing to do with any physical pain. No. It is the pain of not knowing, or rather, knowing just enough. The pain of knowing that he is out there, the person who would risk everything for you, the one who would hold you as you died and wish only to take your place.

And so the pain lies in knowing that such a friend exists, knowing that his brother is out there but unable to anything about it. Unable to use the technology at his fingertips because he only has feelings and smiles and a voice that is mocking and solemn in turns and always, always, indescribably-

But that's it. Indescribable. The bond they share, though they've never met. 'Not in this lifetime at least' he tells himself. And so he doesn't have a name or face and he can't just take off because he doesn't even have a clue as to where to start and besides he's only a boy. But at least he holds his brother in his heart.

As he ages the pain remains but it changes. There is a face now. He can recall the jet black hair that is always mussed as if a breeze has eternally just passed him by. He remembers the high cheekbones framed by ridiculous ears and set in a narrow face with a grin too broad for it's confines. He can see his brother's eyes. At times they are a dusky blue rimmed with dark midnight, almost black-blue. But sometimes they are golden, a bronze that seems lit with fire and magic. Yes the pain has eased in some ways because he remembers his brother's face.

But the pain cannot leave entirely because he can't tell anyone, not his parents, who took him in when he was found lost and wandering the ruins of the island in the nearby lake as a child, certainly not his teachers, who might suggest mental problems, or his friends who would josh him unmercifully. The pain becomes that of having a wonderful gift, a gift that brings joy to his life and keeps him charging on through rough days, yet being unable to share it with anyone because if they found out they'd think he was crazy.

For seven years, from his thirteenth birthday to his twentieth, he keeps this secret, drawing on it and hiding it in equal measures. Unusual things tend to happen to him but he learns how to hide his reactions to them – people rarely notice anything unusual unless _his_ behavior tips them off that something is wrong. At times he wonders how they can be so clueless. Sure, some of the incidents are easily hidden. Once, on a medieval history test he didn't study for he somehow knew the answers to every question. But as he knew he hadn't cheated (or at least honestly hadn't been trying to cheat) and no one else knew he _hadn't_ studied, it wasn't an issue. Other incidents made him question the ability of those around him to use their eyes. Like when he fought off a man breaking into their house with nothing but adrenaline and the old sword his father had on display in their home. He'd done so right in front of his mother who _knew_ he'd never taken sword lessons yet the only one to question Arthur's newfound ability with the blade was Arthur.

By his eighteenth birthday he is raring to leave home and take up the quest for his brother.

Then fate intervenes. On the way home from somewhere – he can't remember where anymore – he is driving the old truck – oh right, they were buying new furniture for his cousin's apartment – with his cousin in the passenger seat. In front of them his parent's car slows to stop at a red light. Time passes slowly. He remembers giving his cousin a friendly punch on the arm. His cousin had screamed. Confused, his first reaction is a retort – don't be such a girl! – until his cousin forces him to look ahead.

The light is green. That's the first thing he notices. Then he sees the rest of it. His parent's car eased out into the intersection for a right turn. Another vehicle melded and twisted with theirs, engine buried in the broadside of his parents-

"Mother!"

His mother had been driving. He vaguely recalls tearing at his seat belt and then at the door. Then he is out and running. He can see instantly that the driver's side is demolished. The next thing his eyes focus on is the passenger side door. He's tugging at the handle; sharply, one two three and again. The twisted and jammed lock sheers under the pressure. He remembers flying backward and landing heavily on his back. '_This is familiar'_ the part of your mind that knows things it shouldn't whispers to him.

He ignores it, already back on his feet and at his father's side, tugging at the seatbelt. A knife flips open in the corner of his eye and he nearly flips out before he realizes that his cousin is sawing through the thick nylon.

An ambulance arrives - someone must have called 999 – and then Arthur is the one being shunted aside. He struggles.

"Father!"

"Come on Arthur. We're going to follow him to the hospital. Give me the keys. I'm driving."

Gentle hands on his shoulder guide him back to the truck but he has eyes only for the yellow vehicle in front of them.

Hours later he is beyond exhaustion and still refuses to sleep. He accepts a glass of something or other from his cousin and is surprised afterwards when the world blurs and sound itself seems to slow down.

He wakes on a waiting room couch. They'd drugged him! But somehow the knowledge doesn't anger him. His cousin loves him just as much as Arthur loves his cousin. He'd only been trying to help.

But nothing helps when the verdict returns a few weeks later. His mother is dead. His father suffers severe brain damage and may never recover. He sets aside his dreams of brotherhood; angrily because why, if such a man really exists, isn't he here right now, when Arthur's world is falling apart.

After a year of ill health and quite rooms, his father passes away. Arthur is finally, bitterly free. He sells the house and for the first time in his life just drifts without purpose or plan.

He is somewhere in Wales when everything changes. The local is a small tavern, off the main drag with good homemade brew. The plan is to drink himself into forgetfulness for the night. Forget his parents, forget his dreams, forget the stupid brother who probably didn't exist because if he did he would have been there.

"You want to talk about it?"

His head lifts as if outside his command. The man across from him is tall, matching Arthur in height and exceeding him by several inches. Despite this his wiry frame seems to encourage confidences and familiarity rather than intimidation. He sits down next to Arthur and slips another mug into his hands.

"On the house."

His mother's manners rise briefly in him and he nods.

"Thanks."

They sit in silence. Then again. "I'm good with secrets. It helps to get things off your chest."

And suddenly he doesn't care if the man thinks he's crazy (or just plain drunk).

"Where would you like me to start?" he asks.

"Anywhere you want," comes the easy reply.

So Arthur begins talking about the subject that comes most naturally to him: his brother.

The next morning he wakes to the feel of hard wood under his cheek and the gentle clinking of glasses in his ear.

"You awake?"

He lifts his head. The bartender from the night before. Oh. He'd told the man everything. Surely he was headed for the doctor's unless he passed it off as-

"Don't bother. I know that those weren't drunk ramblings last night. And I believe you. In fact, I think I believe in the truth of your words more than you do."

His only response is, "Huh?"

The man flips a coat over his shoulder and gestures for Arthur to join him at the door.

"Come on. I've got someone who wants to meet you."

Suspicion and then tiredness wash through him in turn. What does it matter anymore? He trails after the man like a silent shadow as they pass through town and out into the countryside.

They stop before a simple cottage; one floor, big enough for a few rooms but not enough for guests. It harkens back to a different era; one that seems impossibly distant and intimately familiar at the same time.

His guide knocks firmly on the door and then lets himself in. Arthur follows.

The inside of the house is nothing less than organized chaos. Books and papers and foreign and ancient mementos clutter every surface. Against the back wall – Arthur estimates that this first room that seems to serve as a kitchen, study, living room, and storage space all at once, takes up about half of the house - chemicals bubble gently through delicately twisting glass.

His guide ignores the mess. "Hey soldier! I've got someone here who wants to meet you."

A muffled voice drifts down to them from a rickety ladder leading through the roof. "Tell them to come back some other time. I'm not to be gawked at today."

His guide smiles at the acidic fondness in the mysterious man's voice. "Oh, I don't think they'll be the one doing the most gawking."

"Well just a moment then! Can't they see I'm busy?"

Something in the man's voice makes Arthur pause. He knows that voice. Knows it anywhere and yet, it can't be. It's impossible. Not after all this time.

"I don't think he can see anything with all this dust and mess. And you better hurry up. Too much longer and he'll run away from the strangeness of it all."

"Well good riddance if he can't keep an even head on his shoulders."

Something in those words makes Arthur lift his shoulders and straighten his stance. He will not be seen as a coward. He will prove himself to this man, whoever he is.

The first he sees of him is two skinny legs in old style trousers. The man's feet are clad in stout leather boots that seem to be more patches than good leather and yet they still seem to fit in Arthur's mind.

Next he sees a brown coat over a long sleeved blue tee. Peaking out from between the coat and his- his jet black hair is a scrap of red cloth.

The man jumps down past the last few steps and turns to regard his guest.

"What-" his dusky blue eyes widen from their place above high narrow cheekbones. "Ar-"

And suddenly everything fits into place and he remembers. He remembers everything and it is like he has woken from a deep sleep and the last two decades were nothing but a dream because here is_ Mer_lin. Here is his brother in all but blood. The man he would gladly die for and whom would gladly die for him in return.

"_I'm happy to be your servant. Till the day I die."_

"_All right it's true. I came back because you're the only friend I have and I couldn't bear to lose you."_

And suddenly the world is right again and he remembers the words behind the smiles, the feelings, his voice.

_They are hunting the spirit of Uther when the sound of glass shatters against their ears ahead of them._

_Arthur steps forward. With a wave to Merlin at the doors behind them he orders, "Check the storeroom," and then stalks forward. A gust of wind blows out his torch and steady footsteps sound heavily on the stone floor._

"_Father."_

The spirit frowns. "_Camelot must come before all else. Even you."_

_In an instant the ghost is gone. An open door to the throne room attracts Arthur's attention and then he is locked in and blackness descends over his eyes curtsey of a heavy shield to the head. _

_He fights unconsciousness. Uther must be stopped. And out there somewhere is-_

"_Get away from him Uther."_

_-Merlin. No. Don't antagonize him my friend._

"_You've caused enough harm. You don't belong here. You must return to the spirit world."_

Mer_lin! He fights harder against the soft veil covering his eyes. His vision begins to return in splotches. _

"_This is MY kingdom. You think you can drive me from it? You are nothing but a _serving_ boy."_

"_I am much more than that."_

_Fear courses through him. Don't do it Merlin. Don't tell him your secret. It will only make things harder. It will only make Uther hate you more. He watches helplessly as a table flies through the air at his friend only to be stopped by a flash of golden eyes. _

"Mer_lin, you idiot," he mumbles and no one hears him._

"_You have magic." The accusation is soft and filled with fury._

_Merlin stands tall and it's then that Arthur is blessed (or cursed given the situation, he supposes) with a rare glimpse of his friend's true feelings._

"_I was born with it! Even while you were king, there was magic at the heart of Camelot."_

_Slowly Arthur lifts himself up on his elbows. His head spins. All he can think is 'Merlin you really are an idiot. Only you would make sure that the one time you lose you're temper is when you are in a fight with the ghost of the man who began the Great Purge._

"_I will not allow you and your kind to poison my kingdom!"_

"_You're wrong. About so much. Arthur is a greater and more worthy king than you ever were."_

_Finally the room stops spinning and he can stand. Merlin's eyes widen. _

_Arthur steels himself and yells,"Father!"_

_Uther whirls. _

"_Arthur! That _boy_ has magic!" The last sentence is a hissing accusation filled with venom._

_Arthur grins at his stricken manservant. "I know."_

"_Then I trust you will uphold my legacy in this-"_

"_No father." He mimics his warlock's words. "You're wrong. About so much. I've known Merlin has magic since before you died."_

"_You what?!" He ignores the slackjawed expression to the side of him._

"_And I know that Merlin has always used his magic for the good of Camelot, even at the cost of his own life if necessary. You are wrong. Magic is not all evil, and magic is not the evil here today. You are."_

_Later, when he scolds his friend about the stupidity of antagonizing powerful spirits Merlin will uphold this moment as proof that Arthur is no better. But just now all he think of is the slender horn in his hand and aura of rage in his father's. They raise their arms together. The pulse of angry magic leaves his father as the horn touches his lips. _

"_NO!"_

_As his father dissipates and the red aura rushes toward him something enters his line of vision. A shield expands outward from a small center of blue light, covering them completely. He realizes that it is Merlin standing in front of him, arms outstretched straining to hold his own against the fiery wave of anger-made-tangible that flows over them, and then it is gone and Merlin is looking into his eyes searching for _something_ and Arthur can only stand there and hope he finds what he's looking for._

_Finally. "You knew."_

_Merlin's face is closed in shock, like he can't decide whether to run or rejoice. Arthur is determined to make sure that it is the second._

"_Ever since Morgana kidnapped you."_

_Understanding and then confusion and self loathing ripple across the narrow features. "I was trying to kill you."_

"_No." _

"_No? How can you say that? Gaius told me. I tried to kill you. Multiple times. Gaius-"_

_He cuts the man off with a wave of his hand._

"_Exactly. Gaius told you. Because it wasn't you that was trying to kill me, was it? It was Morgana… using your _body_ as a vessel. I know that you would never betray me."_

"_But-"_

_Fed up Arthur takes one stride towards his friend and closes the gap between them. He places one hand on the other man's shoulder in a gesture of affection._

"_Listen Merlin. After you killed the snake, its poison still ran through your veins. There was one more attempt on my life as a result of that poison."_

"_No." The horror in his friend's voice is heartrending and Arthur just wants to shake out the fear, and the guilt and horror and sadness and everything else dark in Merlin's skinny frame and past and leave nothing behind but the goodness and joy and magic that makes him who he is. _

"_It's all right Merlin. Look at me. It was obviously an unsuccessful attempt." He pauses and smiles. "Seems you really are useless."_

_A hesitant quirk of the lips lets Arthur know that he is breaking through the walls around his friend's heart successfully, if slowly._

"_You had a spear of magic aimed at my heart. Gaius had told me that he didn't know what to do, how to save you, but I knew that the castle idiot was in there somewhere. I talked to you. Reminded you of what a prat I was and how you served me anyway, and then it was over. I could see it in your eyes. You were yourself again. You collapsed. I think you know the rest from there."_

"_But-"_

"_No. It is not you who should be asking forgiveness here. Merlin. I have abused your friendship and broken your trust more times than I probably know. My father led a war against your people and I can only imagine that he has killed someone close to you. Perhaps-" He swallows thickly. "Perhaps I have killed someone you care about."_

"_Arthur-"_

"_And I can't tell you how sorry I am for that."_

"_Arthur-"_

"_I know that you've probably forgiven me because that is who you are, but I have to ask- to ask it of you myself-"_

"_Arthur." And the look in his eyes is worth everything. Within them is trust and joy, so much joy that Arthur is honestly surprised that the room itself isn't glowing with the emotion shining out from his friend's face. _

_Merlin grins._

"_Thank-you."_

Slowly Arthur blinks as he returns to the present. He remembers years of feasts and tournaments and adventure; a golden age of peace and prosperity across all of Albion. He remembers that final battle against the Saxons, the horror in his youngest knight's eyes (though really Mordred is hardly the youngest of his men anymore) when an enemy ducks and the Druid boy stumbles forward into his king, the boy's sword passing through a hole in Arthur's halburk and burying itself deep in his chest.

He remembers the fury and anger emanating from younger man as suddenly row upon row of Saxon soldiers are felled in one primal scream against destiny and fate.

He remembers the soft love in his Court Sorcerer's eyes, love greater than any physical emotion, a love stemming from understanding and loyalty and brotherhood.

"_I'll be waiting."_

He takes a step forward, ignoring the now familiar clutter sprawled across the wooden floor of the modern day cottage. He looks deep into the dusky blue eyes and burgoining grin of his brother and suddenly he can't help himself.

"Do I know you?"

Sadness and hope fight for space in his friend's eyes. "I'm Merlin."

Arthur grins unable to keep up the charade any longer. "So I do know you."

"Yes."

And then the two men are grasping eachothers' arms and Merlin is laughing and Arthur can tell by the sound of it that his brother hasn't truly laughed in far too long but Arthur is going to change that.

After all, as the Once and Future King he must be back for a reason. But if he's allowed to start anywhere he likes then there is no reason against and every reason for starting with the one who comes most naturally to him; his brother.

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So what did you think? Did the scenes flow nicely? Did the rewritten parts of cannon - especially Mordred's destiny, Arthur finding out that Merlin has magic, and Merlin finding out that Arthur knows this - work well together? Please review; all comments, complements, and constructive criticism welcome!


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